My father has been dyeing on me for years even though he is healthy and alive.
My father has been dyeing on me for years even though he is healthy and alive. The more I see him, realizes him, the less he is. The past of what was, what was once the sun, is now smaller than a seed, not a muster seed, but poison ivory. I whish it was not but for my sake, I must face this truth. If we came from a place where there was more rage coming to you than love, more frustration than love, more ridicule than love, more lack of boundaries than love, more manipulation then love, more intimidation than love, more hitting than hugs, then you are better off by facing this terrible, this tearful reality go on in to love, to really love, not use fake public displays of love to cover your abuse. Face it, wrestle with it, change it, so as not to past this destructives hell to our children.
poem by Michael Kavuoti
Added by Poetry Lover
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